


Monday Morning Apocalypse

by jendavis



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Electrocution, Embarrassment, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hc_bingo  postage stamp amnesty challenge, using the prompts "Wild Card (kidnapping), Electrocution, Panic Attack, Embarrassment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday Morning Apocalypse

"Yeah, I'll tell you what," Danny cuts Steve off mid-sentence and tries not to ignore how the resulting semi-shocked expression is kind of a turn-on. "Seeing as how you're all about authenticity, you get that beast you so _delusionally_ call a car up and running again, I'll buy you an eight track player to match. I'm sure you'll still be able to find all your favorite soft hits from the seventies at a garage sale somewhere."

Steve looks dubious. "What, and submit yourself to the torture?"

"Hey, I already pushed that heap up the side of a freakin' _mountain_. Believe me, I'm not getting within _earshot_ of that thing any time soon, but hey, there's a thought."

"What?"

"Well, it _is_ slightly more humane than a shark cage." Danny gives it some thought. "You know, this could be a massive step in the right direction for you."

Steve takes a pull off his beer and pretends to think about it. "How's it compare to bungee cording a perp onto the hood of a car?"

"Depends on how loud the speakers are."

Steve nods to himself, and the face he's making right now- mouth turned up at the corners, eyes crinkling just a bit below furrowed brows- _this_ , right here is Danny's favorite. "Probably going to have to get new subwoofers, then."

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Thankfully, Danny's mouth is quicker than his brain, already talking so that there's no awkward pause while he mentally shakes himself, reminds himself that this isn't anything more than it ever was. "There's got to be at least, what, two or three dozen people left on this island who haven't tried shooting you yet. That would definitely do the trick."

"Good to know," Steve rolls his eyes. "So. Just so we're clear. Smooth hits of the seventies on eight track is a go, but only for the people actually _sitting_ in the car."

"Exactly."

Instead of going speechless, though, Steve turns it around again, and he's speaking quickly, now, a little quietly. "You know. If it had a _regular_ cassette player, you could probably find some Bon Jovi or whatever it is proper Jersey boys listen to. Just in case your car was in the shop."

"So you admit it?"

"What?"

"That in the pursuit of truth, justice and the Rambonian way, you _are_ planning to one day turn my trusted, _stalwart_ steed into a flaming ball of death."

"No." Here, Steve actually has the temerity to appear insulted, but Danny's not buying it for a second, they've done this too many times. Just as Danny expected- _there it is_ \- Steve's grinning again, apparently secure in some delusional knowledge that he's the one true voice of all logic and reason. "I'm admitting that it _may_ , at some point, break down. It happens."

And Danny's pretty sure he's supposed to be reacting by now, not being sidelined by the sight of his _dimples_.

He's got a rejoinder coming- the invective is building, he can _feel_ it- when the doorbell rings. It's dinner. Steve gets up, heads back through to the house to pay the driver, still smiling.

Danny can be magnanimous. He can let Steve have the win, he'll give him that much, but never the last word. "Whatever, Death Race," he calls out, looking down at his bottle, "just grab me another beer on your way back."

Thing is, as far as last words go? Gunshots trump them every time.

\---

They've dumped a bucket of water over Steve's head and sliced his shirt open to get a better contact, and the blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder is washing down his chest in thin rivulets. Danny's not so square that he doesn't know how _insane_ this is going to go if they don't start getting answers that they like, but Steve still won't talk. He's said nothing at all for hours, now.

Langston hits him again with the picana as he asks his question. "Where are the police keeping Gandis?" And fuck it if Steve doesn't laugh, hissing for breath when they hit him again.

It's not funny. Not even a little bit, and if they get out of here, Danny's going to give him one hell of a talking to. But first they've got to get past Langston and his two goons, and get _out_.

It's not looking so good.

\---

 _You've survived worse_ , Steve reminds himself.

It's a mantra of sorts, but it would help more if he weren't cuffed to the chair and dizzy. It would help a lot _more_ if Danny weren't sitting across the room, bound to a chair of his own and staring back over his taped mouth with horrified eyes.

It's only a matter of time before they get tired with their current track, before they escalate and on to Danny, and it will be soon, if Steve doesn't play this right.

On the plus side, they probably won't _kill_ Danny. Once they've moved on to him, he'll be their last bargaining chip, and if _both_ of them are dead, Langston's going home empty handed. Langston might get his rocks off with electric shocks, and might be a complete amateur, but he's definitely serious.

 _You've survived worse_.

The thing is- and here's the problem- it's all on Danny, this time around. And Steve can't move, can't signal him, can't do anything to get them out of this. All he can do is try to put on a show, keep their eyes on himself. Because help, if it's coming at all, is going to come in the form of one Jersey detective who's down to pull a jack move, and, more importantly, who looks like he's going to get an arm free sometime soon.

 _You've survived worse_.

He forces his eyes shut before Langston notices where his eyes have strayed. He can take it a while longer. No need to push their attention off on Danny.

Langston crows, reading it as an anticipatory flinch, and _yeah_ , Steve thinks as the shock charges against his skin, he'll give him that one.

\---

One thing they've got on their side, Danny figures, is that these guys are punks, new at this. They'd only been expecting one hostage, and so they'd brought only one set of cuffs. The other is that he's terrified, and sweating like crazy.

The duct tape isn't as stuck on his skin as it was half an hour ago, and his right hand is almost free, now. As he stretches and tears at the tape, he tries to strategize. He's going to have to decide, soon, which of the gunmen to go for first. If he's going to go for the one in brown or the one in the red T-shirt. Who he's going to shoot first.

He has to promise himself not to go for Steve, much as he _really_ wants to. The picana hurts like a bitch, it's dangerous as fuck, but Langston said it himself. It's not fatal.

Hopefully, he hadn't been lying.

\---

Langston manages to keep the picana pressed tight against Steve's abdomen even as he jerks and sputters under the assault, his teeth grit too hard to scream, _far_ too hard to answer the question.

He can't move, they don't even need the cuffs any more, but when the picana's pulled away, he manages to raise his eyes enough to scan the warehouse.

The guards are all too busy watching the show to pay much attention to Danny, yet, though he knows it'll return once they get bored, once he pushed them to an entire new level of insane ultimatums.

When he doesn't tell them what they want to know, the game's going to be changed again, and might end with a gun pressed against the back of Danny's skull. He doesn't have much time, but it's hard to concentrate on getting loose when he's watching Steve get _tortured_.

All because he won't give them the safe house location where HPD's stashed one Martin Gandis.

Steve's never even heard of the guy.

\---

Across the room, Steve's still twitching with the aftershocks, his eyes squeezed shut. It's impossible to tell from if it's water, sweat or tears dampening his face, but even when Steve falls quiet, Danny can hear his breathing from here, rough and ragged.

 _Fuck, as if "witness" is the right term for it_.

Steve's letting himself get fried to protect a backstabbing, twelve-year-old-shooting, singing-like-a-canary sonofabitch who's been bounced between safe houses on Kauai for the past six months.

But there's tape over his mouth. He can't pass it along.

He can't do a thing to stop Langston when he rips open Steve's fly and jerks his cargo pants down his thighs. The angle's all wrong for Danny to see where the picana's applied next, but Steve knocks the chair over, hitting his head on the ground as he tries to move away.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Danny's heart stops for one of two reasons. Either Steve's been knocked out- _not dead, never dead_ \- or this is the perfect distraction Danny could've used to get himself free. Red Shirt is stepping forward to help Langston get the chair upright again.

Steve's not dead, but his movements are subdued, uncoordinated, even under the handcuffs.

\---

 _Everything_ hurts.

Steve's brain feels too big for his skull, and his skull feels like it's broken. His heart's pumping battery acid through his body, it burns, everywhere.

He doesn't want to look down at himself; he already knows- he's been _trained_ to know that his junk's still there, and that confirming that his thigh is a charred mess won't do anything to help them get out of here, but instinct takes over.

His head is swimming and there's blood in his eyes; it's hard to focus on anything, and it's probably a relief.

"Now," Langston repeats himself, gripping his hair and yanking his head back to stare in his eyes. "I don't have all day, here. You're going to tell me what I need to know. Odds are, you're the silent until death type." Using the grip he's already got, he forces Steve to look in Danny's direction. "This goes on too much longer, we'll find out what your _partner's_ made of. So. Again. Where is Gandis?"

"Fuck you," Steve's tongue is too big for his mouth, his throat's not working right. He braces himself for the next hit.

\---

Finally, Danny's got his hands free, but he holds them behind his back as he tries to decide what to do next. The gunmen are still watching Steve; Brown Shirt's plainly horrified at what he's seeing. He's losing his nerve. Red just stares.

Taking Red out first is probably the best choice. Maybe Brown one will be too panicked to react. _Or maybe he'll just start shooting up the place. Fuck_.

Danny's never been so aware of how much he knows only in theory than in this moment, but Steve's taking sobbing breaths, eyes wild and glaring as Langston asks if he's ready to talk.

"Fuck you," Steve spits, macho fucking _idiot_ that he is, and Langston grins like it's his birthday.

"Wrong answer," he replies, and thrusts the picana against the still-bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder.

Steve's eyes roll back before he can even make a sound. It's impossible to tell if it's water, blood, sweat or tears dampening his face, impossible to see anything other than his awful, paralyzed rictus. Danny can hear his breathing from here, rough and ragged.

Only it's not Steve's breathing he's hearing, it's his own. He can't tell if _Steve_ is breathing at all.

\---

Langston's thugs are pacing, now, back and forth, nervous. They're no more used to watching someone get tortured than Danny is, and it's making them twitchy. Red's just about to turn around again, and if Danny times it _just_ right…

 _Now_.

It's a stupid move, a _McGarrett_ move, but Danny launches himself out of his chair and launches himself at Brown, moving low to take out his knee as he spins towards the sound of the chair hitting the floor. Danny's close enough to smell his aftershave, too close for the gunman to get a lock on him.

Bringing his arm down over the barrel, Danny wrenches back and bringing Brown down with him pulls him back. He won't be much of a shield against the other AK, but maybe Red one will hesitate to shoot through him.

He's got Brown's AK now, but won't be able to use it unless he gets some distance. Red's got him in his sights and Langston, now, is pulling out a handgun. Danny doesn't know whether it's going to be pointed at Steve or himself, but there's an explosion behind Langston that makes the question moot, and then it's too dusty to see.

Daylight's streaming in from the outside as he shoves his new prisoner down, planting a knee on his back to hold him there until SWAT steps in out of _nowhere_ and takes over.

Danny's supposed to get out, he knows that much even without Chin yelling it at him, but Danny pretends not to notice as he runs across the floor, skidding to a painful stop on his knees next to Steve's chair.

He knows he's yelling, hears the worry in his own voice and hates the sound of it as he feels back along Steve's jaw, fingers splaying out in search of a pulse. He's not finding one, and when he peers around he finds that the chain of the cuffs is wound through the metal slats of the chair. He needs _keys_ , needs to get him _out_ before he can do anything else.

Someone's stepping forward with bolt cutters, and it still takes a ridiculous amount of time to get his arms free, but the medics are pushing their way through before they've even got him laid out on the ground.

Danny knows that someone's trying to pull him up and away, but he can't stop staring as they begin CPR. The garage door opens and the ambulance is pulling up, and he wants to go with them, but Kono's hugging him, she and Chin are asking questions that don't make any sense, and then they're hurrying him outside, back towards the car.

\---

Danny's aware of movement, feels the shift as the car turns around corners and slides in and out of traffic. Chin's on the phone with someone, talking about clearing the scene, and Kono's at the wheel. Danny doesn't know where they're going, but he's relieved when they pull into the hospital parking lot.

Taking a side entrance to the emergency room, the find a small, busy waiting room and shove Danny into a chair. Chin goes off to find out whatever there is to find, but doesn't looked cheered when he returns.

"They just got here," he explains, sitting down across from Danny. "It's going to be a while, they're working on him now."

It's not heartening. _Working on him_ only really implies that there's something that needs working _on_.

He'd sort of been expecting that Steve would've bounced back by now. There's a sick taste at the back of his throat as he asks how they found them.

"Both of you were late. Neither called. Chin worried," Kono smiles. "So what happened?"

Danny doesn't know where to start, he can't think about it right now, it's not the _point_ , not with everything. She leans into his line of vision, and he tries not to move away. "Talk us through it, hey? From the beginning?"

He can do this. It's fine.

He fills them in, tells them about catching the game, Steve's promise that the pizza he'd ordered would meet Jersey standards. Glosses over what was said, because he's not remembering much of it. He manages to bring it around, though.

"He went to answer the door, was going to pay off the delivery guy when I heard the shot. I ducked low, saw the guys comin' in. Went into the kitchen to grab the Sig Sauer he keeps there, and was just coming around the corner when the guy in the red shirt got me by surprise. After that, it gets a little hazy."

Chin's lack of reaction is calming. Danny's been in his position before hundreds of times, resisting the urge to press an already stressed out source. Witness. Victim. Whatever.

He stares at his hands. The skin on his wrists is red, sticky, stinging and sore. Kono's muttering something about a concussion, but Danny waves her off. Chin reluctantly agrees with him, but prompts him to continue.

"I came to while they were finishing with the tape. Didn't know where I was, but I could see sunlight coming through the vents up near the ceiling. They had McGarrett in another chair, looking pretty out of it. That's when Langston got started, asking about this old HPD case, a witness named Gandis. He had this… _cattle prod_ thing, I can't remember what he was calling it."

"We recovered it," Kono assures him. "Only things locked up more tightly are Langston and his crew."

"Yeah? That's good." Danny's not so interested in talking any more, because there's a doctor heading towards them and he gets, suddenly, why they'd been so bent on getting down to business. He's not sure he's capable of speech.

He's trying to keep his cool, to stay calm and just listen, but it's bad. Words like _resuscitate_ and _monitoring_ , _ventilator_ and _surgery_. Other words, he's hearing louder. _Concussion_. _Blood loss_. _Electrical shock_. _Excessive damage to the wound_. _Burn unit_.

Two cracked ribs are the cherry on top.

\---

The doctor says it'll be a few hours before they really know anything, but she's feeling cautiously optimistic.

There are worse calls he could have to make. As long as he calls Mary before the doctor comes back with different news, at least he can pass that on.

But it's bad. He knows it. He has to make the call, asks Chin if they'd found it.

"Oh." Kono shakes his head, then reaches into her purse. "Yeah, sorry. Found it stuck in Steve's couch this morning." When she hands it over, it's still wrapped in an evidence bag.

There's no case number labeling the bag, yet. More importantly, there are no messages waiting, and Mary's on speed dial. She doesn't pick up the phone, and he doesn't leave a message. He'll try again in a little while.

\---

It's an hour before they hear anything, but eventually, the nurse comes to say that Steve's still sedated, but they can look in on him if they want. And he does- damned _right_ he does, but he's not feeling so good when they step into the elevator, and by the time they step _out_ , it's getting worse.

It doesn't hit _worst_ , though, until he's stepping inside Steve's room, until he gets his first look at Steve, discovers that he's not awake, that he hasn't bounced back already.

Danny doesn't understand what he's looking at, it's not real. They'd said they had him _stabilized_ , but there are ventilators and monitors and two bags hanging from the IV stand. It doesn't look stable. It looks like.

Fuck, Danny _knows_ , already.

 _He's not going to pull through_.

An hour ago, he would've been able to pass on that the doctors were optimistic, but he didn't leave a message, it was never spoken aloud, and it's not true, anyway.

At least he's not being made a liar.

"Guys?" He thinks he says, _I need to get out of here, I can't see this_ , but he's not sure, he can't hear his own voice over the roaring in his head. His heart's pounding, pushing the blood up into his ears until they're ringing, making him dizzy.

He can feel his hands shaking, wonders how long it'll be before his knees give out. He can't breathe, feels like he's choking. The corners of his vision are wavering darkly and he's about to pass out.

If the sweat keeps dissolving his skin, his heart's going to have no trouble bursting through his chest. He's going to die, it's a heart attack, a stroke, it's spontaneous freakin' _combustion_. Steve's connected to all those _machines_ in there, still as a statue, like he's _Superman_ , carved from _granite_.

After everything Steve went through, after the bullet and the drugs and the torture and the beatings, Danny's still going to die first.

Fuck, he can't move, like he _couldn't_ back in the warehouse, back when he got Steve killed, and now his heart is going like-

 _Shit_. Grace.

-he wants to call out, scream her name, but he can't catch his breath, and-

He's never going to see her again.

-his entire body's shaking apart, it won't listen when he tries to stop-

She's not gonna have a dad anymore.

\---

It's the jab on his arm that tears his attention away to Kono's alarmed expression. She's not looking not at the bed, but at him.

She's grabbing at his arm and shoving him into a chair when she should be making sure Steve's all right, because Danny can't, not right now. It looks like she's yelling something at Chin, but Danny can't hear her, can't hear anything over the sound of his own labored breathing.

" _Danny_?" She's kneeling in front of him, wrenching his hands away from his face as she examines him, and sounds like she's repeating herself. "Hey, Danny. Look at me." She sounds serious. "Give me your phone."

 _Right. Mary. She needs to know what I did. That I killed us, and someone's gonna have to call Rachel, tell her that she's going to have to tell-_

Kono's grabbed his phone, she's messing with it but she's not bringing it up to her ear, she's fidgeting with it, but trying to watch her fingers moving over the screen is making him nauseas, and he forces his eyes shut tight against the vertigo.

"Danny, _look_."

Kono's holding his phone out, and he doesn't know what she's trying to show him, there's nothing running, no messages. Just the background picture. Grace's first surf lesson, two weeks ago, now. She's grinning proudly up at the camera, sand clinging to her still-wet hair, arms crossed proudly as she stands in front of her Gracie-sized board.

but Kono's still talking.

"Danny, shh. Hey. She's fine. You're fine. _Danny_."

He still feels like he's going to hyperventilate, doesn't understand why she's showing him the picture. "See? She's fine. Everything's going to be fine… You can call her in a little while if you calm down, okay? Deep breaths, just… Slow down, hey?"

Grace is alive.

Nothing else matters.

Kono's got her hand wrapped around his as he cradles the phone, and he notices for the first time the way she's rubbing at his arm. Nervous, fluttering movements, trying to reassure when she's needing it herself.

Danny forces a deep breath into his lungs and the rest of the room reasserts itself around him. Another breath, and he's nodding, he gets it, now, even without Kono's streaming words.

"You're all right, it was just a panic attack. Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

He tries a grin, jaw clenched shut and determined- and _man_ , is this humiliating; he can't bring himself to meet her eyes for more than an instant before needing to look away again.

In the background of the shot, behind Gracie's board, Chin and Steve are wading up onto the beach, boards under their arms, heading towards them. They're a little out of focus, but Danny can see enough, he remembers, now.

Steve's laughing, easy and wide-

-like he'd been doing when he went to open the door for the delivery guy.

 _Like he's not doing now_.

In a minute, he'll man up enough to raise his head, look at Steve's bed again, but he can't afford to confirm anything just yet. Can't stand to see him like this.

In the picture, though, he's gorgeous. There are no machines keeping him just this side of living, no fluorescent lights sucking the sun from his skin.

Danny still might fucking lose it. He feels himself skipping a breath, losing the rhythm, and barely catches his breath in time.

\---

Chin returns with a doctor, and Danny's still too dazed, too freaked out to fight them off when they move him across the hall into a small examination room.

It only takes the doctor a few dozen questions about medications, diet, stress, head injuries, _other_ injuries, and hydration to confirm that, _yes_ , he'd had a panic attack.

She offers a sedative, but lets him wave her off with his phone.

"I'll be fine," he promises. It's been a while, now, since the first crashes hit, and now all that's left are the aftershocks. He's still a bit dazed, though, and there's a massive headache building behind his eyes as he follows Chin and Kono out to the car.

It's not until they're halfway to his place that he realizes that the sun's gone down.

\---

Steve's done this often enough to know that he's fading in and out, but the changes in the light coming through the windows every time he opens his eyes are a little jarring, but he's stayed awake for a while now.

He can't feel much, and what he _can_ feel is aching.

Breakfast hurts more, but he waves the nurse off and awkwardly gets it all down unaided.

Afterwards, he begins the self-assessment. His shoulder's immobilized, and his right thigh is wrapped in a bandage. Once the nurse has been and gone, taking away the breakfast tray, he drops the fingers of his left hand down under the sheet, rucks the gown up just a bit.

There's a bandage on his left thigh, and a scab on the side of his balls, but he's intact.

 _Of course it's fine_ , he chides himself. He'd already known as much. But now that he's got confirmation, he feels a little ridiculous, sitting there with his balls in his hands, and he hurries to straighten out the fabric one handed.

\---

Steve dozes off to hospital sounds, comes suddenly awake again when voices stop nearby.

It's Chin, who looks much less uneasy once Steve's raised the head of his bed so that they're on a less unequal footing.

"From Kono," he explains, thrusting a bunch of flowers onto the table before reaching into his bag to pull out a stuffed bear, which Steve's too slow to catch before it hits him in the stomach. "And this is from the SWAT team."

Picking it up, Steve can't help but think it's the sort of thing that Danny would orchestrate, but Chin's looking at him like he isn't wild about what he's seeing, like he doesn't even want to ask.

"Pehea `oe?"

"Eh, I'm fine, though they've still got me pretty dosed. How 'bout you? Everyone get out of there okay?"

"Yeah, we're all good. Langston and his crew have all been charged, and whenever you're up for giving the report, let us know."

Steve nods.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah, mostly." Steve says, automatically, but some parts are hazier than others. He remembers Danny, angry eyes over his taped mouth, and he suddenly needs to be sure.

"Is Danny okay?"

Chin would've said something if he wasn't, but maybe he's just trying to get a read on him first, make sure he's up for hearing bad news. Just as Steve's becoming positive that he's locked on to something, Chin shakes his head, sitting up in the chair.

"He's _fine_. No major injuries, but he _was_ a little freaked out."

 _He wasn't the only one_ , Steve thought, remembering Langston, the gun he'd threatened to use on Danny. How close he'd come to losing him.

How close he'd come to getting his partner _killed_.

Chin's still watching him, waiting for something, but Steve doesn't know what. A few moments pass, and Chin glances at his watch. "You hungry? It's almost time for lunch."

\---

On Tuesday, Kono comes to take his statement and winds up spending half an afternoon.

Wednesday, Chin turns the table in the corner into his own office and claims that the office is too quiet.

"The office? What, Danny's not running around, driving you nuts?"

"He's on leave until he clears his psyche eval on Monday."

"Psyche eval?"

"Standard operating procedure. You're going to have to clear one too, once you've cleared the physical. Immunity, and discretion, or whatever's in your deal with the Governor, only go so far."

Steve knows all this, he's been warned about it enough times, but he's still hung up on Danny. And whatever it is that Chin's not telling him.

"Where _is_ Jersey, anyhow?" The words come out as casual as he can make them, but all the same, his throat's still hashed, the shock to the neck is still wreaking havoc on his vocal cords. _All_ of his words come out sounding like that, reedy and washed out and pathetic, not just the ones where he's trying to avoid admitting how much Danny's absence is kind of, sort of, _maybe_ breaking his heart.

"At home. Resting. Doctor's orders, or possibly Kono's," Chin says, after a moment. He's not quick enough to cover the frown that's trying to break through, though, and Steve wonders just what it is that Chin's lying about.

"It's not like he's the one who got _electrocuted_ ," Steve says, knowing that he's sounding mulish.

"True. But he did _watch_ you go through it with his hands tied. And let me tell you, we _all_ saw you when you came out of surgery. You scared the hell out of us."

Chin, it's obvious, isn't going to tell him anything more, so Steve waits for him to leave, and calls someone who will.

\---

Wednesday, Danny wakes to find messages from both Chin and Kono, both to the same effect.

 _Go visit him_. Telling himself that he'll respond once he's had some coffee, he forgets about it until noon, when his phone rings again. It's Kono.

"He's worried about you," she says, sounding angry. "Which is funny, seeing as how _he's_ the one in the hospital."

"I know, I know, it's just. Not feeling so hot."

"He already knows about yesterday," she says, homing in on the exact detail he'd been hoping she'd ignore. "We all do. And we've moved past it, so now it's _your_ turn, all right? So just man up and go over there, hey?"

"Yeah, yeah," Danny says, and, yeah. He knows it's childish, but he hangs up on her.

\---

He's not allowed back to work until he clears a psych evaluation next week, which is amazingly unfair, given the madhouse he calls an office. He's probably been a thousand miles past sane for _months_ , now.

But to hear Chin tell it when he calls that afternoon, he's getting off easy. Steve's going to be out for at least a month, and on desk duty for even longer.

"Have you been to see him?"

"Not yet," Danny prevaricates. He's thought about it, yeah, even gotten as far as heading downstairs for his car when he realizes it's still parked over at Steve's.

There's silence on the other end of the line, and he knows this is where he's supposed to ask Chin for a ride, but he can't bring himself to do it.

He's only forestalling the inevitable. An hour later, there's a knock on his door, and Kono's standing there. Looking over her shoulder, he can see the car parked in the lot, and he pats his pocket for his keys. He'd gotten them back at the hospital.

"You hotwired my _car_?"

She smiles tightly, ready to fight and not letting him take the moral high ground. He braces himself against what's coming next.

"They're letting him out tomorrow afternoon," she says, relenting once she's said the words, but it still stings. She's decided that he's something that needs careful handling.

"I went over with some groceries so he's all taken care of and saw your car was still there." She pauses for a moment, then continues. "I thought you might want it back so you can drive it back over there tomorrow to see him." Danny's too busy trying to look as if he's not completely mortified to really listen. It takes him a moment to catch up.

"Yeah? That's good. I mean, that he's being released," he tries, knowing as well as she does that he's been ducking her calls all afternoon, and even right now, all he wants to do is shut the door in Kono's face and retreat back into his apartment, before her expression grows even _more_ sympathetic.

Mostly he just sits around his apartment and tries to guess when he'll be willing to show his face in public again. Wonders how he'll ever be able to look Steve in the eye.

He was supposed to have Steve's back, supposed to be someone he could count on.

Instead, he'd _lost_ it, thrown a massive temper tantrum while Steve was lying there fighting for his life. And Kono knows it. _Chin_ knows it, and so it doesn't take a genius to parse out that between the two of them, yeah, _Steve_ knows it, too.

\---

Danny knows he can be abrasive. He knows that he can be hard to work with, and he knows, _man_ , does he know, that he's been acting like a chump.

Steve's in the hospital. Called once, but didn’t leave a message. He's awake. He's fine, he's coming out of it. Hospitals aren't just where people go to die. And Danny still hasn’t seen for himself that Steve's really okay.

It's nearly six when he manages to screw up enough courage to head for his car, but when he opens the door, he stops short.

Grace freezes, her arm still poised to knock, and tackles him the moment she recovers. Danny, though, is a little more thrown. Rachel's standing behind her.

"Two days early, huh?" Grace hugs him only briefly before hurrying past him, and he stands again to look at Rachel. "To what do I owe the honor?"

Inside, Grace is sitting down at the kitchen table and opening her backpack while on the porch, Rachel smiles the way she'd done when she'd first crashed into his car.

"I told her that she's allowed to sleep over _if_ , and _only_ if, she studies for at least one hour tonight and again tomorrow night."

There's an awkward pause while Danny stands in his open doorway, waiting for Rachel to turn heel and head back to her car, but she's still breaking their routine, she's not leaving.

"You want to come in?" Despite their recent, wary disarmament, he hopes not. He's pretty sure his apartment looks passable from the doorway, but there's no way it will stand up to closer inspection. He's not feeling too confident of his _own_ ability to pass, either, come to think of it. "What's this all about, really? Something come up? Last minute business trip?"

"No, thank you. " Rachel smiles again, and nods towards the parking lot. Closing the door with a quick glance at Grace, he follows. Once they've reached her car- _her_ car, this time, _not_ the Benz, she continues. "I heard about what happened, that you're out until at least Monday, and you're always saying that you don't have enough time with her, so I thought you'd like the company. Of course, if you need some space, I can pick her up whenever you need, but otherwise, I can come for her on Saturday so you still have some time to prepare for the week."

A month ago, he would've argued just for the sake of arguing. Would've pointed out the fact that he might've had plans. Right now, though, he doesn't know what's worse; the fact that they both know that he doesn't, or how pathetically grateful he's feeling towards Rachel right now. He wants to thank her, but his stupid mouth gets in the way like it always does when things aren't going badly with her.

"What, you're not afraid that I've finally cracked?"

"That happened a long time ago," she jokes back, and internally, he's heaving a sigh of relief, but it wouldn't do to show any lack of confidence. "You've said it yourself. She keeps you sane, and despite what you may think, I have no desire to see you lose your job. Especially given that, by all accounts, it wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, well," he's looking for a response when her words hit. "What do you mean, _all accounts_? Hang on, how'd you even hear about it?"

"Commander McGarrett called, filled me in. He said he wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be blindsided by it at an inopportune time."

"Inopportune time?"

"I'm paraphrasing."

"Huh." He flounders for an excuse that will justify the fact that he still hasn't gone to see Steve, then realizes that she doesn't seem to be looking for one. "That was considerate of him," he finishes, realizing that he must be frowning. Rachel only grins like that when he's confused, when she's three steps ahead of him.

"You seem surprised."

"Well, yeah, he's not really the kind of guy to-" Only he _is_ , sometimes, in the weirdest of ways, and Rachel's grin changes again, like she does when she sees him finally catching on.

\---

Thursday morning is a wash of examinations, but by noon, Steve's being released with a handful of prescriptions that Chin fills on the way home. Kono's gone and stocked the fridge with microwave dinners, which was a thoughtful if unappetizing thought, but he's relieved most of all when _finally_ , Chin takes the hint, takes off, and leaves him to his own devices.

Thursday afternoon, he stares at the phone and wonders if calling would be too obvious.

He's not expecting it when the phone suddenly vibrates in his hand, and he drops it under the couch. Retrieving it takes more work than it should, and when he's sitting up again, his shoulder is screaming.

The hospital doses had worn off an hour ago but Chin's gone, now, and Steve can finally open the pharmacy bag of prescription painkillers.

Or he _could_ , if he had full use of his right arm. His entire body's too stiff, and trying to hold the bottle tightly enough to gain any friction only serves to increase the agony.

Steve gives up after fifteen minutes and settles for a few ibuprofen he manages to scrounge from the medicine cabinet.

Maybe if he gets some more sleep, he'll be able to ignore it. But the phone rings just as he's dozing off.

It's Danny, and he's speaking even before Steve can get a chance to say hello.

"Hey, look, sorry I didn't come by when you were in the hospital." Danny sighs and Steve can practically see him shaking his head. "I know you heard about what happened, and I'm sorry, it was fucked of me to avoid you like that. At first, I just. _Really_ didn't like seeing you like that, I guess."

There's a long pause that Steve doesn't know how to fill, but after an awkward moment, Danny takes over. "Anyway, I was gonna come out there last night when Rachel came and dropped off Grace, and. Look, this is gonna sound like I'm a completely superficial asshole, here, but I wasn't sure you wanted her seeing you like that."

It hadn't occurred to Steve to even think about it, but in the same instant, he's _glad_ Danny had.

"Thanks," he says, and if Danny hears the _you're right_ , he doesn't say anything, and Steve's never missed him so much. "But. You know, I'm better now, so..." Reminding himself to keep it casual, he forges ahead. "So, Danno, what do you two have planned for tomorrow?"

"Taking Gracie to school, nothing, nothing, picking her up, watching her do homework, then eating."

At least Danny doesn't sound like he's trying to make him jealous to the point of _aching_. As mundane as it sounds, it actually sounds like a pretty good day.

There's something weird in Danny's voice when he speaks again, and Steve can't figure it out.

"Figure I might stop by and bug you for a few hours in between, though, if that's all right?"

\---

"How's your shoulder?" Danny asks as he fiddles with the row of bottle's Steve's got set up on the counter.

"Fine."

Danny whistles in appreciation when he finds the bottle of vicodin. "Only fine? This stuff should knock you- Hey. Why aren't you knocked out on your ass and drooling in front of the television?"

"Huh?"

"Hang on," Danny says, looking at the bottle in his hand more closely, then picking up the antibiotics to compare. After a minute, he turns, rolling his eyes. "So let me get this straight. You're taking your antibiotics like a good little boy scout, but you're, what, skipping the pain meds?"

Steve shrugs, nearly wincing at the resurging ache in his shoulder. "Took some ibuprofen," he admits, because _I couldn't get the bottle open_ sounds pathetic, even to him.

Danny's watching him, though, and not ecstatic about what he's seeing as he wrenches open the lid, muttering all the while. "Fucker's really stuck on, here." Reaching over to turn on the tap, he searches out a glass and fills it with water.

A moment later one very large pill is shaken from the bottle and handed over.

"You. Couch. Drooling. Now."

"I'm fine, Danno." Because he wants to be, and he _doesn't_ want Danno looking at him so worried.

"If you come quietly, I promise not to take any blackmail photos of you when you're in hour three of Jersey Shore."

He takes the pill and downs it dry, washing it down with water before responding. "What? Why would I watch that when I've got the king of Jersey right here?" Steve smirks, playing it cool, and tries to ignore the effect Danny's beaming has on him. He's going to blow it, though, if Danno keeps looking at him, so he turns, and heads out to the couch, Danny following behind.

\---

The television or the painkillers are doing their job, and after an hour or so, Steve's relaxed so far back into the couch that he may never come out again.

It's weird, seeing him like this. New.

It's triggering Danny's protective streak so bad that if he doesn't leave, soon, he's going to make an ass of himself.

"Hey, look," he says, when the commercials come on. "I've got to get going, get to the store before Gracie gets out."

"Huh?" Steve's dazed, out of it. Maybe a little disappointed, but he rubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. M'kay."

Steve makes like he's going to stand, so Danny waves him back down. "Don't get up, hey?"

He _really_ doesn't want to leave. Enough that he's able to say the words without giving in and making a joke.

"Tell you what, I'll give you a call later, check up on you. Make sure you don't end up passing out there, otherwise that shoulder's gonna be _pissed_ at you, man."

There's a moment, there, where Danny's sure he should've been moving, should've been halfway to the door, but the television's casting shadows under Steve's eyes, the sling's got his arm pulled tightly against his chest, and if it weren't for the noise from the tube this house would be _silent_.

But he'd left him in an even quieter hospital room for two days. The thought makes it easier for him to tuck tail and run.

\---

Danny's never liked going to the store. _Hates_ it with a burning passion, but he's got to hit the freezer aisle, at least, if Gracie's not going to starve.

The offerings are depressing, bleak. Single serving everything, straight from the freezer to the microwave. It's not real food, but it's the best bet for weird weeks.

There'd been a stockpile of them at Steve's place. Courtesy of Kono, Danny's fairly certain. And it's bad enough that Danny lives off TV dinners most days out of sheer laziness, but at least he's got some semblance of choice in the matter.

Steve couldn't cook right now if he _wanted_ to.

Danny's staring at a bag full of frozen broccoli as he dials Steve's number. Because that's all this is. Looking out and taking care of the injured. That's all.

"Hey, Danno, what's up?"

"Ah, nothing. I'm at the store and was wondering. You eaten yet?"

"Ah, no." There's a slight delay that Danny suspects he's supposed to be filling. "Why?"

"Just thinking about making a pizza tonight. A _real_ one, that doesn’t have any of that ridiculous fruit ruining the thing. But if you're down, and you don't mind Gracie tagging along, I could make a stop over in a little while. I'm even willing cede half a pie to some weird Hawaiian _wrongness_ if you're up for the company."

For a moment, he's sure Steve's laughing at him, and can't decide if he's wishing he hadn't called, or if he wants to hear more of it.

"I don't have to eat pineapple every day, you know," Steve's not laughing, but it's a close thing. Sounds like happiness, but Danny's not sure. "But if you want to come over, I've still got a few beers."

"All right, cool." Danny spins his cart around, awkwardly, and points it towards the dairy aisle. "I'll be there in an hour or so, with Gracie, ingredients, and, in case you were wondering, no intentions of shooting you the minute you open the door."

For a second, he wonders if he's gone too far, if it's still too close to joke about, but Steve doesn't sound affronted. If anything, he sounds like he's smiling.

"I'll be waiting," Steve says, signing off, and Danny's not sure, but those particular words coming out of _that_ particular mouth usually sound more terrifying.

They still do, but not for the usual reasons.

\---

Steve forces himself to get up and get showered, because he's still got the hospital all over his skin and Gracie's going to be here. He's going to be a bad enough host as it is, but he can at least make the effort.

It's also a mistake. The heat turns his sore, still muscles into jelly and sends the painkillers into overdrive. He's dizzy by the time he steps out of the shower, dizzy enough that he can barely dress himself.

The sling, though, that's not coming back on.

\---

It's a bit better when Danny and Grace arrive. Danny tells Grace to get the sling back on while he gets started on dinner, and she kisses her hand before carefully touching it to his shoulder.

Steve's a little taken aback, and when Danny asks what's up a few minutes later.

"She kissed me. Sort of."

"Huh?"

"To make it _better_ ," Grace explains, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh. Yeah. Good." It's clear that Danny's not sure what to do with this information, so he shakes his head and heads back into the kitchen. "Carry on, then, Doctor Williams."

\---

In the kitchen, Danny has a major freak out.

Because thinking about kissing Steve, while his daughter's sitting next to him on the couch and subjecting him to some horrible thing, Hannah Montana or something, is just not what he wanted to be doing.

He's supposed to be making pizza, for crying out loud.

And even if he _is_ thinking about kissing Steve, it's supposed to be in some abstract, distant, weird way. It's not supposed to be setting itself up in his head like it's a course of action.

 _Not with Grace sitting there working on her book report_.

It's been ages since he tossed dough, and the humidity here's screwing everything up. If the pizza comes out all wrong, that's what he'll say.

\---

The pizza is fairly amazing, Steve's got to admit, and they eat in front of the television, mostly because he's too tired to stray far from the couch. Danny, as it turns out, doesn't have cable, and if Grace is as psychotically enraptured by it as she seems to be, Steve doesn't blame him.

It doesn't stop him from enthusiastically nodding along with her excitement when she sees that there's some movie on that she really wants to see, but he's not an idiot. Peering over her head, he shrugs and nods at Danny, who's looking a bit uncomfortable with the entire situation.

And then, hedging his bets, he leans over, tells Grace, "I don't know. Why don't you ask Danno if it's okay?"

Danny doesn't even bother replying, he just rolls his eyes until Grace's giggles force him to break out and smile, despite himself.

Steve has to look away, quick. Danny's doing something funny to his heart again.

\---

Danny doesn't mind the Pixar movies, but he's not in the mood, right now. Too anxious, too aware of everything. He doesn't really know what to do with himself.

"There's beer in the fridge," Steve reminds him for the third time, and yeah, okay. He's not driving for at least another two hours, so Danny might as well.

"You want anything?"

Steve shakes his head, so Danny grabs the plates and napkins and heads into the kitchen, cracking a beer as he surveys the damage.

It's not too bad, but there's flour and cornmeal on the counter, and if the sauce dries to the bowl it's going to be a bitch to get off. He sets his beer to the side and gets to work.

Steve's got a dishwasher, but it's been a long time since Danny's loaded one. Besides, it's a long movie. He'll be done in a bit, and it's kind of a relief to have something to focus on, rather than the awkwardness that only he seems to be feeling. It's nice to be doing something that he knows he'll get right, for once.

Beats contemplating all the mistakes that he really wants to make right now.

\---

Even doped to the gills, Steve manages to sneak up on him; the sounds of his footsteps, if there are any, are washed out by the running water in the sink.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I do have a dishwasher."

"Yeah, but this way, you won't have to unload it later," Danny says. Reaching over to turn off the tap, he glances at the wall like he can see Grace through it.

It doesn't work, and it doesn't distract him for long.

\---

Steve leans against the counter, watching as Danny drains the sink and reaches for his beer.

There's too many things he's been thinking about, too many things he's too close to saying, so it takes Danny a minute to find something innocuous enough to talk about. "Hey, I gotta ask. Is Kono pissed at me?"

"I don't know. Could be. You do anything stupid the past few days?"

"Nothing beyond what's already plainly on record," Danny says, something dying in his eyes.

"Look. Yeah. She might be. She's just being, I don't know, protective or something."

"Or _something_?"

"Yeah, just." Steve looks away, and what's worse, he knows Danny's watching, observing, but options are a little thin on the ground, here. "It's fine. She'll get over it, if she hasn't already." And she will, because Steve will talk to her, soon. Tell her to cool off, that he doesn't need her fighting his battles for him. As much as he appreciates the effort.

If they don't step back, soon, though, Steve's not sure what'll happen. "Crazy week, huh?"

Turns out, he probably shouldn't have said that.

\---

Danny rolls his eyes. Of _course_ Steve's content to let it all roll off of him.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Steve looks frozen, surprised and concentrating all at once. On anyone else, that expression would indicate reassessment, or realization of a mistake. That's not Steve's style.

"What?"

"Just. Everything. Less than a week after being shot and _tortured_ , and nothing's changed. You're still you. It's just weird."

"Who am I supposed to be, then? Was I supposed to come back different?"

Danny shakes his head and sighs, too tired to actually argue. "I don't know. I mean, this could just be." Danny flounders. "I thought you were _dead_."

"I'm not. I'm fine."

"No thanks to me."

"Chin filled me in. You did all right. Hell, you did exactly what I would've done."

"Yeah?" Danny can feel the smirk, tries to soften it before it cuts something. "You throw a lot of temper tantrums when you go to the hospital?"

"Not this week, but in my defense, I was asleep through most of it. But look. I've been there, okay? This shit happens to everyone. You don't have to avoid me, at least because of that."

"What, there's some other reason I should avoid you? Besides the always nearly getting one or both of us killed?"

"We survived this one, Danno."

Danny's about to respond, but he's really not up for banter and something's telling him that Steve's not, either.

"So what, then?"

Steve remembers, now. Even as casually as he's playing it, Danny's been a detective for a long time, and he's probably never been stupid.

It's best if Steve doesn't answer, but he knows his silence only bring him back around to his earlier question. Basic interrogation.

Another moment, and he's proven right.

"So. She'll get over it, means there's something going on in the meantime. Spill."

"Danny," Steve shakes his head.

"See now? Now you're just making it worse, leavin' me hanging like this."

"I know, and. Look. It's nothing you need to worry about."

"I'm good at worrying. I can worry so hard that I nearly gave myself an aneurism without even getting in a car with you." He steps back, really _looks_ at Steve, mostly to get his point across.

It backfires, though. Because Steve's standing there, pinned and nervous, and all Danny wants to do is _fix_ it, to go back and unsay whatever it was that had set them along this track.

His fingers are wrinkled from the dishwater, and he rubs his thumb against his index as he waits.

"She knows some things. About me. That you're not supposed to know, okay?"

"I'm your partner, I'm supposed to know everything. Especially when the things I'm not supposed to know are things that cause others to stink eye me all week." Again, he knows he's sounding like an asshole, that he'd sounded more pissed off than he actually was. "As you can see," he tries to stop it, but the smirk becomes a grin as he steps forward. "I'm very capable of being a complete pain in the ass."

"Yeah, I got that," Steve mutters, nearly smiling himself, and suddenly, Danny's having another panic attack.

Cold sweat and he's not getting enough air. Blood pounding in his ears and _fuck_ , why does he get himself into this shit? Why doesn't he ever see it coming?

Steve wraps a hand along the side of his neck, but he's looking almost as freaked as Danny's feeling; it's not setting him at his ease.

A few very long, very embarrassing days ago, he'd convinced himself of things that weren't true.

But Steve's standing here anyway, and he's not backing away.

And Danny's hands, traitors that they are, are finding purchase on Steve's arm, on his side.

And Steve's still standing there. His hand's still on his neck.

"Okay," Danny says, interrupting whatever Steve had been about to say. "Again, with the shitty detective work-"

" _Don't_ ," Steve shakes his head, steps even closer. "Think we've got a lead, here."

After the step, neither moves, and in a moment, this is going to be insanely awkward.

That's when Grace calls out from the living room, asking for juice, and they break apart as Danny hurries to the fridge to fill a glass.

"Coming!" he calls out, swinging the fridge door shut, and glances over to find Steve standing shell-shocked in the middle of the kitchen, and he can barely summon the breath to yell.

"Hang on a sec, okay Gracie! I'll be right out." Striding back before he can over-think it, he hesitates. Takes a breath and speaks again, careful and quiet.

"Hey look, in case the mood's _completely_ destroyed before I get back…"

He waits for Steve to blink, to nod, to do _something_.

The second he sees him shifting his weight, about to move closer, Danny's already standing there.

Steve's lips are dry, but he mostly catches him on the chin, fast, so he can dart back if he needs to, but Steve's tilting down to kiss him back, just as quick.

They're standing there for a moment, foreheads pressed together while they try not to upset the glass of juice or jostle Steve's arm, and it feels like a panic attack all over again.

"Here's what I'm going to do," he talks fast and low. Grace will come looking if he's not out soon, but he can figure this out. "I'm going to kiss you again, here, real quick, and then I'm going to get Gracie her juice. That'll buy a few minutes, and-"

"Yeah," Steve's smiling as he reads Danny's mind, he feels it more than he sees it from this angle, and their mouths touch. "See you in a minute."

\---

Steve watches Danny go, hears Grace giggling about something, and he kind of wants to join in.

His shoulder's burning, it's radiating into his chest and down his arm, and his eyes fall on the impenetrable bottle sitting on the counter. But Danny's coming back in, sheepish and exhilarated and he's fine, he can ignore it for a little while longer.

He's stepping forward when Danny rolls his eyes and marches past him, heading for the counter.

"Seriously?" Wrenching the lid open, he tips one out and passes it over, turning back to the sink to refill Steve's glass. "Would it kill you to not _kill_ yourself?"

His tone- Danny has _several_ , most of which are some shade of exasperated- is fond, familiar as he sidles close. Holding the glass up, Danny waits until he's swallowed, before taking it back and setting it on the counter.

This time, when they kiss, it's not fast, not hurried, and Danny kisses back like he's wanted this too, like it's not a fluke, like he's been _waiting_ for it.

He can feel Danny's fists opening slowly on his hips, cautious and careful, but giving the sling a wide berth as they breathe the same air and meet again.

Steve's only got one good arm, but it fits around Danny's shoulder and he splays his hand out along his back, pulls him in closer. He's got this.

He's really, truly _got_ this.


	2. Deleted Scene: What Kono Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was a lot bigger when I first started it, with more POV shifts over a much wider time frame. just in case you're interested, here's why Kono's acting the way she is.

It had been a tough case, but they'd gotten the four surviving little girls to the hospital and their kidnappers to the jail.

It was also Kono's birthday, and even though the call had gone out at the last minute, the bar was packed with friends, family, and co-workers that had become a strange mix of both. The only notable absence was Danny, who was home with his daughter for the weekend.

She spent most of the evening circulating, same as everyone. Made small talk, got caught up with gossip from the team, picked up and dropped threads of conversation all over the place. But she was noticing a theme whenever she'd been within earshot of Steve's conversations, they all opened up more or less the same.

"Hey, your partner couldn't make it? He's not in the hospital, is he?"

"Where's that sawed-off haole loudmouth you're usually dragging around with you?"

"Aw, your boyfriend's not here?"

Steve was flipping off Captain Lanakila with a wide grin and waving him over to his table. It was the same old ribbing, no big deal, she'd teased them both herself quite regularly. She just hadn't realized that apparently, the entire island had been following suit.

Later that night, going out onto the patio for some air, she ran into Steve again, alone this time, his half-finished beer forgotten on the bench next to him as he contemplated his phone.

"Protocol apparently commands that I make some joke about drunk-dialing Danny, right?"

"Eh, you know how I feel about protocol," he smiled, slipping his phone into his pocket and straightening. "Just checking the time."

Even half drunk, Kono discovered, she could tell when Steve was nervous, and when he was lying.

"Hang on," she muttered, trying to examine his face. "You really _were_ about to call him?"

"Text, actually, but." He rolled his eyes at whatever he was reading in her expression and shook his head in irritation. "Those girls, this week? They were almost the same age as his daughter. Just wanted to make sure he wasn't freaking out or something."

"Oh." Danny hadn't seemed upset about it during the raid, or in the office, but it had been a long, fast week, and there was a lot she'd probably missed out on. "Grace is over there now," she. "I'm sure that's helping."

"Yeah." The word was cut off so sharply that Kono was sure others had nearly followed, but she didn't need just words to play detective. He was avoiding her eye. Embarrassed, though that was hardly surprising given the nature of their exchange.

He looked kind of sad. Irritated, tired, grumpy, even angry, Kono could easily explain away as any combination of things. Dejection, though, she was having a harder time with that one.

She replayed the past minute or so in her head, trying to establish where it had been, exactly, that she'd set him off.

But she hadn't. Before noticing her, before the smile, he'd been staring at the phone and thinking about Danny. Friends didn't make friends look this lost, though, unless something was seriously wrong.

"He's okay?"

"What? Yeah. Think so," he shrugged, forced, casual, as if he didn't care.

He wasn't fooling anyone, but if she wasn't very nearly drunk, she probably wouldn't have sit down next to him, wouldn't have pressed. "You really care about him, don't you?"

He remained silent for a long time, long enough that it was becoming an answer of its own. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, nearly monotone. "He's my partner. We work together, and we're friends."

It didn't sound like an explanation, though, not with the tone he used. It sounded like the problem.


End file.
